The air around the cathedral changed.
It wasn't mana.
It wasn't pressure.
It was disgust—thick, sour, clinging to the stone like rot that refused to be washed away.
Soft laughter drifted through the plaza. Not loud. Not bold. The kind whispered behind hands and lowered veils.
"Tch… disgusting."
"So shameless…"
"Pregnant… and she still dares come here?"
"Hmph. The Goddess must be merciful to tolerate something like that."
Amusement followed close behind the revulsion—quiet, poisonous amusement.
Luca's head snapped toward the source.
And then—
He saw her.
A young woman stood at the base of the cathedral steps.
Lavender hair hung loose and unkempt down her back, dulled by dust and neglect. Her face was thin, almost gaunt, eyes ringed with exhaustion so deep it looked permanent. There were no tears left in her—whatever she had cried, she had already cried dry.
She didn't look at anyone.
She didn't react to the whispers.
Her hands rested instinctively against her belly.
